


Who's Your Caterer?

by Bandearg_Rois



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, kind of food porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:45:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandearg_Rois/pseuds/Bandearg_Rois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving into the Tower, the group starts taking meals together. This is a story about food, and about love, not necessarily together.</p><p>Also contains physics and old movies, not at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Your Caterer?

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt on avenger_kink over at livejournal:
> 
> After a few months living together in Stark Tower or the Mansion, the meals suddenly get even more delicious. Every Avenger starts looking forward to the food that basically appears at lunch and dinner time, and joke that Tony should give them the phone number of the restaurant he's buying from.
> 
> The thing is, there is no restaurant. Tony is the one cooking. He's a damned good cook, but he's only ever cooked for family (his mother, Pepper...). He's started to consider the Avengers family but, since he is terrified they'll reject him, he just cooks and keeps quiet. 
> 
> One day, they find out.
> 
> -Steve/Tony preferred, but I'm not picky. No established, please.  
> -Bonus points if Bruce knew all along, and he was the only one thanking Tony after every meal.

Breakfast in the Tower was usually a 'fend for yourself' since there was absolutely no way that everyone could be there at the same time. Tony refused to come out of his lab until somewhere around 10, usually to go straight to a meeting downstairs, Steve would be in the gym until around 5 in the morning, and sleep through the morning, Clint was usually in the armory or at the range, and Natasha was a late sleeper if there was no mission to keep her attention. Bruce simply had weird hours, which meant that he wasn't around for a lot of things anyway. However, dinner, and sometimes lunch, if everyone was around, was a totally different story.

 

Steve had started it in the early days, making everyone sit down together for the meals, and even though they were resentful at first, it started to become a routine, something they just did. Most of the time, they could even coax Bruce out of his lab. It was usually takeout unless Steve decided that they should have something different, in which case he made the food while everyone sat around staring. Unfortunately, while edible, Steve's food was just a step above MREs in taste. No one actually looked forward to the times that Steve cooked, though he was so earnest about it that they had to thank him for it, or else all of them would feel like they'd kicked a puppy or done something equally as stupid.

 

And the days went on, the meals turning into actual meetings, strategy and history and teaching Steve and Thor how to use the internet, which was actually a lot of fun most of the time. One day though, there was a large serving bowl filled with food set up on the counter, and Natasha actually squealed. If that wasn't scary enough, she immediately leaned over and sniffed the dish.

 

"Vareniky!" Which was, of course, nonsense to the men in the room. "It's Ukrainian and delicious." After her pronouncement, Tony walked in, hands freshly washed but grease across one cheek.

 

"Why aren't we sitting down?" he asked, taking a sniff of the bowl himself. "Smells great." And apparently, that was all it took for everyone to sit and hold up their plates.

 

"Holy... This is freaking delicious!" Clint said, taking a bite of his dumplings. "Who did you get to cater this, Stark?"

 

"That's a secret. If I told you I'd have to kill you. I've used them for years, just had to wait for their building to get repaired," Tony said with an easy grin. The others just nodded at him, and the meal went on as normal, Tony and Clint making fun of Steve for accidentally turning his phone off and not being able to turn it back on again. Dinner that night was something that looked like a casserole, which looked pretty dubious until Clint took a cautious bite of his helping, whimpering in pleasure.

 

"Pizza casserole, are you kidding me? This is amazing!" Everyone else (except for Tony and Bruce, who usually ate anything put in front of them anyway) started in on the meal and were very pleasantly surprised. "Okay seriously, dude. Where is this food coming from?" Clint continued, pointing at Tony. "Because this shit is delicious!"

 

"I'll pass it on to the chef," Tony said, ignoring the rest of the questions. Everyone was a little dubious, but getting Tony to reveal sources, even of the food they were eating, was notoriously hard.

 

"Yeah, because no offense, Steve, but this is amazing."

 

"None taken," Steve said wryly, getting his third serving, along with Bruce. Tony was already finished, but he picked at the salad that had been sitting in the fridge, waiting for the others to start talking.

 

~*~

 

For a few weeks, this went on just fine, and one day, there was some kind of curry for lunch, which no one but Bruce could stomach, not even Steve, though Bruce insisted it was great. Tony wasn't around for anyone to complain to, since he'd been away on business for almost a week, but everyone at least tried it. Natasha hit pay dirt when she looked in the oven and found a large container of more curry, which Bruce refused to touch, calling them philistines and hoarding the hot curry.

 

Dinner was something cold that only Steve really knew the reason for, and even he thought it was kind of weird for a sit-down meal to have what he called picnic food, meat turnovers and cold fried chicken and some kind of salad that wasn't a traditional salad, but everything was delicious, which of course meant that there were no leftovers for Tony whenever he got back from his trip, but no one really cared about that, except maybe Steve, and no one said anything anyway. For the next few days, lunch and dinner were like that dinner, things that were good cold, could be saved, and Steve grew brighter and brighter with each meal.

 

"This is stuff we'd have at the orphanage sometimes," he confessed over a meal of lamb shoulder and something that had potatoes and prunes of all things that had everyone else scratching their heads. "If there was the money for it we'd have a veritable feast. Whoever Tony's cater is is very good at recreating the classics." Everyone else was slightly confused, but then again it was sometimes hard to remember that Steve hadn't always been in the 21st Century, that it had only been a few years since he'd had these homespun pleasures.

 

When Tony got back, the food returned to the modern era, though the rack of lamb and huge side of beef that appeared for dinner when Thor was in town was a pleasant surprise, as was the mead that Tony had managed to finagle out of a group of Druids in Wales. The caterer was obviously creating meals from everyone's childhoods, or at least something they were far more comfortable with than fancy foods, which was something no one would have guessed from someone hired by Tony Stark.

 

~*~

 

Bruce usually stuck around after the food was over to wash the dishes, waving off Jarvis's insistence that they could be done automatically, which surprised exactly no one. Sometimes Steve would pitch in, but most of the time it was Bruce, with Tony sitting at the island with a tablet and some coffee to keep him company, and also to bounce ideas off of. Bruce confessed that it was calming to take care of the dishes, that it was something that actually soothed the Hulk as well, which was the more surprising thing what with his usual quirks.

 

The food continued in that vein, foods from around the world and all eras in history, crowd favorites showing up a little more often as people made their preferences known. Tony was one of the only ones that hadn't really made any requests, insisting that he could eat absolutely anything without anchovies and enjoy himself. No one asked why he stayed away from the Middle Eastern foods that Bruce had kind of taken a liking to (while it was clear Steve wanted to ask, a swift elbow from Natasha always stopped him, and no explanations were forthcoming).

 

As the weather turned colder, soups started appearing regularly, all of them gourmet level without looking like they were, something that the caterer had obviously been warned about, since Tony was really the only one with a wealthy background from which to appreciate the added trappings. Minestrones, chilis, all manner of soup and sandwich combos were tested, the favorites turning up on especially cold days and nights. The delicious food had become a staple for all of them, and none of them wanted it to stop, so they constantly made sure Tony knew to tell his caterer or chef that their work was amazing. No one noticed Bruce keeping silent and side-eyeing Tony, or Tony's slight flush as he promised to pass on their regards. It was just routine.

 

Until Tony was taken down in the middle of a fight with Jotuns, their powers over the cold leaving his suit completely inoperative whilst 7 stories up. Hulk caught him, of course, but there was no roaring to wake him this time; Tony was almost frozen through, the only part of him still warm being the area around the arc reactor embedded in his chest, which was whining a little with the pressure of keeping his heart going while the rest of him was trying to shut down. They got him to the helicarrier as soon as they could, and no one even thought about whatever delicious meal they could be having back at the Mansion; Tony was way more important.

 

Thankfully, they were able to thaw him out at the right speed to prevent hypothermia and frost-bite, though he was still unconscious even twelve hours later. Steve and Bruce took turns sitting with him, switching off whenever Clint dragged Bruce off for food and sleep. Steve didn't sleep much at all, a couple of hours at most, and he ate what was handed to him almost mechanically. When Tony finally woke up, nearly two days after he went under, everyone was waiting.  
  
"... I miss a party?" Tony asked philosophically, and Natasha was the first to laugh.  
  
"Yeah, you missed a party, Tony. There was plenty of ice, but we couldn't find the liquor," Clint said with a grin.  
  
"Well that's not a fun party at all. Did you at least get the thieves?"  
  
"The Jotuns were dispatched, Tony," Thor said seriously, leaning against the wall next to the door, the only place he fit. Steve tried to smile, but he didn't quite make it, and he knew Tony noticed, though neither of them said anything.  
  
"... Have you guys been eating?" Tony finally asked, and everyone shifted guiltily. They'd gotten snacks and things from the commissary and mess hall, but the last real meal they'd had was lunch the day before. "Idiots. No wonder you're all so jumpy. Someone's gotta make sure you eat." He sagged back against the bed, though, obviously not up to doing the job himself.  
  
"You've got another few hours of observation before we can take you home," Bruce said. "And you'll be on restricted activities. Before you ask, yes, that's considered strenuous, at least the way you do it." Everyone laughed, since Tony was obviously asking about sex. Tony looked appropriately put out with either their reaction or the answer to the question he hadn't asked, which only made everyone laugh harder. Steve noticed, though, that Bruce wasn't laughing quite as genuinely as the others, and Tony looked almost devastated. Something to come back to when he felt better.  
  
~*~  
  
No one was in the mood for eating when they got Tony home, so they all dispersed to their own rooms, Bruce making sure that JARVIS knew to call him if anything went wrong before Clint dragged him away to wherever they were sleeping that night. Steve stayed with Tony a little longer, making sure he'd be okay for the night before Tony pretty much kicked him out of the room with a clumsy hand wave.   
  
Steve ended up sitting up in the kitchen for a few hours, making and remaking coffee, not drinking any of it, but wanting to keep some fresh just in case Tony wanted any. Which he didn't, but Steve had the feeling that if he had, he'd have been at least a little grateful for it to be on hand. He finally crashed on the couch in the connecting living room, Casablanca playing softly in the background. He didn't dream.  
  
~*~  
  
The next few days were a bit surreal. Lunch and dinner showed up like always, and everyone still complimented the food, because it was good, but there was just something...  _off_  about it. At least to Steve, though that might have been his heightened sense of taste. There were spices missing that wouldn't have been, that _weren't_ , before Tony's latest brush with death, and Steve felt like that should have told him something, but he couldn't quite catch it.  
  
Nights found him in the kitchen (and really, his routine was shot, he hadn't been in the gym in days) with the coffeemaker (that JARVIS still had to talk him through, even after all those months of being in close contact with it) and old 40s movies that someone had found on hard disk (and he still wasn't sure when reels became tapes became disks, but he wasn't going to quibble, really). He wasn't sure what his obsession with having coffee for Tony was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to question it (questioning that meant questioning other things, and he wasn't quite ready for that much self-inspection yet). So he sat in the kitchen with a full pot, emptying it every couple of hours, and retreated to the couch when he couldn't keep his eyes open. It was a new routine.

 

It was over two weeks before Tony was back to 100%, and another few days before he was fully back to his old self. Steve knew he was able to stop staying up all night in the kitchen, but he'd gotten used to it, so he kept it up. Tony never did come in, but it made him feel better, that the option was there.   
  
The food had returned to its usual caliber, something about Tony being better and Steve being able to step down, maybe, making it better. He wasn't sure. After the first few days of it being back to normal, he noticed the slight flush on his face when the compliments flowed in, and it brought him back to his musings about the catering while Tony was sick. He stayed up again, the night that he first noticed it, but this time he left a cup of coffee in front of the lab (he didn't really understand the door controls and didn't want to bother JARVIS to figure it out) instead of waiting Tony out.   
  
When he came back an hour later with a fresh cup, the first one was empty, with a post-it note (neat little invention those) stuck to it with a giant smiley face written on it in Sharpie. He smiled, and set the new cup down, taking the old one. If he detoured by his room to stick the post-it on the bulletin board he'd set up, no one else had to know.   
  
He and Tony continued this dance for a few days, and his bulletin board filled with various colors of sticky note, all of them with pretty emoticons (at least that's what Bruce had called them when he'd asked) drawn on them. Some of them had equations written on them as well, and Steve put those in his desk, so that if the sticky stuff failed and Tony actually needed them, he'd be able to locate them. The food took a distinctly 30s turn again, and he found himself grinning at every meal, especially when random doughnuts that tasted like they'd come from the bakery down the street from the apartment he grew up in started showing up under glass in the kitchen.  
  
He hadn't yet figured out how the food was getting there (though after watching Star Trek with Clint he'd entertained the thought of transporter technology, quickly shot down by Bruce), as he hadn't seen the person (or persons) doing the transporting. But he was sure that it wasn't coming from outside the Mansion. He couldn't say for sure why he was certain of that, only that it didn't make sense for it to be coming from outside the building.  
  
The food was too fresh, too... something, to be coming from anywhere else. And he always saw the others at some point (even Bruce came out of the labs before the food appeared, usually because Clint would go in and drag him out if he didn't), even Tony sometimes. Though when he thought about it, Tony would show up early only if the food was cold, or would keep for a little while, and the food was always cold if he was gone for any reason.   
  
He found a package of the sticky notes in one of his drawers (he wasn't sure who'd put them there, that would be his next mystery to unravel) and wrote a short note on one before sticking it to the coffee cup and leaving it in front of the lab door like always.  
  
 _'What's for lunch tomorrow? Or today, since it's after midnight?'_   
  
He knew Tony would recognize his handwriting, even if he didn't know who'd been leaving him the coffee (who was he kidding? of course Tony knew it was him), and that he might or might not receive an answer. But trying was half the battle of succeeding, so he left the note and went back to the living room (Natasha called it a den, but he wasn't sure what the difference was supposed to be) to watch Arsenic and Old Lace, a movie he'd never actually gotten to see at the movie house, since, well... He just hadn't.  
  
When he finally stopped laughing (or crying, he wasn't sure of the difference, sometimes, not anymore) at the antics of the aunts and the amazing acting job done by Cary Grant, he made a new pot of coffee and took a new cup down to Tony. There was a fresh post-it note on the empty cup and he picked it up with a little (a lot of, actually) trepidation.

 

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_'Tell me what you want and you'll have it. :D'_

_  
_

He pulled out the pad and left a new note, before carting the empty away. This time he kept the note from Tony with him as he queued up another movie, this time Dumbo, a movie guaranteed to make him cry (he always remembered his mother when he watched it, had hated himself a little the first time he'd seen it at the movie house, had hated that Bucky had laughed at him until he'd realized why he was crying) but one that he could say that he genuinely remembered.  
  
About halfway through the movie, Tony shuffled in, right as Dumbo and his mother were reuniting and she pushed him away, and Steve tried and then gave up trying to hide his tears. It wasn't like Tony didn't know he was a soft touch anyway. Instead of saying anything, Tony sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder before settling back into the couch cushions. His silence couldn't last very long though (he was Tony Stark, silence really didn't fit his image).  
  
"Popcorn?" he said, interrupting the song about flying, and Steve jumped. It wasn't that he'd forgotten he was there, he'd just... forgotten he was there.  
  
"Maybe? I don't know where it is or how to make it, but sure." Tony sighed a little, which made Steve grin. It wasn't his 'you're stupid' sigh, it was his 'I should be annoyed at you, but you're too cute to be annoyed at' sigh. It said something that Steve could give a sigh that name and not have a small panic attack over it, though he wasn't sure what it said, exactly.  
  
"JARVIS, pause film. I'll go make us some. You want anything else while I'm up?"  
  
"Uh... Maybe some juice? Or water. Water's good." He didn't want to put Tony out more than he already had (the man had been cooking for them for months, though, there wasn't much further to put him out other than the street). Tony just grinned and ruffled his hair as he passed, making Steve scowl, which seemed to be the intended response, since Tony laughed as he entered the kitchen.  
  
Steve settled back into the cushions, mind working up reasons why Tony decided to join him, trying not to link it to his note, since his note said hardly anything at all, and coming up with things that he was still shying away from, didn't want to think of head on, but he was getting closer to having no choice but to face them.  
  
Tony's return thankfully meant he didn't have to think about it for the moment, a giant bowl of popcorn (bigger than the tubs at the theater, which was saying something), two bottles of juice, and another cup of coffee balanced in his arms. Steve quickly relieved him of the juice and the popcorn, settling the former on the coffee table and the latter on the cushion between them.  
  
"You're working through the decades, right?" Tony asked as he sat down, taking a sip of the coffee before grabbing one of the bottles of juice. "We need to finish up with the 40s soon. The 50s had some great additions, more musicals and such."  
  
"Okay." He had a feeling he wouldn't be watching movies alone anymore, and that was just fine with him. He grabbed a handful of popcorn as JARVIS unpaused the movie (and wow, he still wasn't used to movies that could be stopped and started without touching anything), trying not to think about the fact that Tony grabbed for some at exactly the same time. Dumbo was a delightful distraction.  
  
He woke up at some point, not remembering falling asleep at all, to Tony poking him in the side. "C'mon, Big Guy, I can't carry you, and sleeping on the couch will kill your back, super soldier or no. C'mon, babe, up and at 'em, just a few steps to your room." He mumbled something (he wasn't even sure what it was, actually, and he probably never would) and sat up, trying to take most of his own weight and almost failing quite a few times.  
  
By the time they got to his room, he was more exhausted than before, and Tony huffed at him before laying him out under his covers. "You've gotta take better care of yourself, Steve. We kinda like having you around, ya know?" Before Steve could make anything resembling a reply, Tony turned the lights off and left, and Steve remembered nothing else until morning.

 

Lunch the next day was a very old-fashioned barbecue (at least to everyone else; Steve thought it was pretty swell) complete with food he'd only gotten when a fair was on in Brooklyn, and the Stark Expo, of course. The others were confused, but Steve just grinned at Tony, raising his glass of Greek wine (which he was still trying to figure out how Tony got that in less than 12 hours, but bravo, anyway) and noticed Bruce looking between them out of the corner of his eye.   
  
The others either didn't notice or didn't want to bring attention to it, but Steve had to fight down a blush of his own when Tony grinned back, eyes bright. The meal was absolutely delicious, at least to Steve, and he pushed Bruce out of the kitchen when it came time to do dishes ("go do science or something. Go watch Clint, if you're so inclined." Which produced a blush on Bruce's face that sent Steve's mind careening in directions he definitely wasn't ready to go) and put on another pot of coffee before starting the cleanup.  
  
"You're very good," he said quietly, putting a cup in front of Tony, who was doing something on one of his tablets. "I mean, you always have been, but..." The blush was inevitable this time, since being tongue-tied was something that he excelled at, and that embarrassed him every time. Tony just looked up and gave him a shy smile and a soft thanks before going back to his work. Steve retreated to the sink, turning that smile over in his mind as he washed.  
  
After he finished, he refilled Tony's cup and dared to brush against him as he left the kitchen for the gym. He had some thinking to do, now that he was finally (maybe, probably not, but he was going to try) ready to think about it. The heavy bag under his hands felt familiar, letting his mind wander through things he'd suppressed his entire life (The curve of Bucky's jaw, the strength in his shoulders, Howard's manic grin, Tony's shy smile, the set of his shoulders when he was getting ready to put on the suit, the feeling of rough hands holding him up in the middle of the night).   
  
He broke three bags with his inattention (for the first time it wasn't anger, and wasn't that something?) before he finally let himself rest, retreating to his room with Tolkien and a few bottles of water. He ignored the passage of time until someone knocked on his door and he realized it was dinner time. He put his bookmark in and wandered down to the kitchen, wondering what they'd be eating.  
  
Dinner wasn't from the 30s or 40s, or at least it wasn't just from that time period; Tony had created a 5-tier lasagna that practically fell apart on the spatula, and Steve felt his heart drop a little more, a feeling he'd just realized had been happening every day for months, every time he'd tasted Tony's cooking (whether he'd known it was Tony at the time or not), or seen Tony, or talked to him. He wasn't quite ready for declarations or out-right demonstrations, but he felt a little more settled, knowing that he at least had Tony as a friend, and maybe (when he was ready, and he hoped that was soon, for both of their sakes) something more.  
  
Tony's answering grin and toast made him feel a little jittery, and he blushed, busying himself with eating so that he could pretend he wasn't a 12 year old with a crush (oh God he had a crush on Tony Stark, the son of one of his friends; it should have felt wrong just for that reason, but it didn't) and was actually a functioning adult member of society. Bruce was definitely looking between them, now, and he avoided his gaze as best he could, drinking more wine than would have been wise, had he actually had the ability to get drunk (stupid metabolism).  
  
He once again shooed Bruce out of the kitchen, not even giving him an order to go do something, just physically pushing him out of the room. Tony looked vaguely amused at this turn of events, and for once didn't have a tablet to work from. Steve made him a cup of coffee like he normally did, their fingers brushing with a jolt of electricity that left him almost breathless, retreating to regroup with the soothing routine of washing and drying.

 

Tony got up once, to get himself another cup, but he stayed quiet, and Steve could feel his eyes on him, sizing him up, studying him, not unlike a specimen in a lab, though totally unlike at the same time. It was almost unnerving (who was he kidding? he'd left unnerving behind in a plane going down over the North Atlantic some 70-odd years before, he was full on into bizarre territory now), and he shivered a little under the intensity. This was somehow moving faster than he wanted it to, and not fast enough. He wasn't sure why he was fighting, except that he was still himself, and no matter what he had realized, he didn't rush into things (saving Bucky the first time didn't count, he'd always be reckless that way, couldn't help it), even though he really, really, wanted to. So he continued washing the dishes and hoped that someday he'd be brave enough to 'make a move'.

 

~*~

  


Steve's movie that night was Fantasia, and he knew that Tony (if he showed) would make fun of him for going backwards, but he was fascinated. The quality was actually better than the original, which he hadn't thought possible, and he'd always had better luck with Disney movies than anything else. He dutifully put the coffee cup down for Tony before starting his movie, putting a note on it about Fantasia.  
  
Tony appeared less than 20 minutes later, flopping down on the couch near his feet, fresh coffee and a bowl of popcorn already in his hands. That answered one of Steve's questions (where the hell was he doing his cooking), but brought up a few others. Instead of asking however, he relaxed into the couch more, stretching out a little, toes barely touching the outside of Tony's leg. Tony didn't react, other than to curl his free hand around one of Steve's feet, and Steve fought down his shiver at the contact (no one had really touched him outside of a lab or fighting since before he'd been changed, at least not without him initiating contact in some fashion, not even Peggy) and tried to focus on the movie.  
  
Once again, he was woken up, but this time by a hand brushing the hair from his face. He opened his eyes to see Tony hovering over him, something dark and soft in his eyes that ate through every defense Steve had ever tried to put up against this man. Instead of leaning up to kiss him (he wanted to, he  _ached_  to, he just wasn't  _ready_ ), he covered Tony's hand with his own, smiling a little. Tony smiled back, that look getting more pronounced, before Tony pulled him up into a sitting position.  
  
"C'mon, old man, crick in the neck and all that," Tony said quietly, his grin infectious. Steve stood, not letting go of his hand, pulling him a little closer even though he wasn't going to kiss him ( _God,_  he wanted to be ready, he was almost there) and nodded a little.  
  
"Sure thing, old man," he teased back gently, melting a little on the inside when Tony laughed. He reluctantly let go of Tony's hand (and did it say something that Tony let him, or was he reading too much into it?) and started for his room, somehow knowing that Tony would follow. They stopped at his door and Tony traced his jawline with a calloused finger before heading down the hallway, his soft "good night" floating behind him. It took a long time for Steve to go back to sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
Steve commandeered a tablet (actually he didn't, he used the one in his room, but 'commendeered' sounded better) the next day and stayed holed up until lunch, clicking through links of information that he hadn't let himself look at before, laws and communities and internet support groups (which sounded weird, but possibly useful, for those in need of them) that sent him reeling even further. He'd known that being... how he was, wasn't illegal anymore, but he hadn't exactly realized the struggle that was still happening for equality.   
  
He'd read about the Civil Rights movement, but he'd never even heard of Stonewall, or anything relating to rights of... people like him. It was eye-opening at the very least, and he knew he looked a little shell-shocked when he sat down at the table. For once, he barely tasted the food, his mind still whirling at speeds greater than even Tony's suit could generate. The others looked a little worried, but he brushed them off, kicking Bruce out again (though he didn't really have to kick him out this time, and Clint was waiting, looking almost thankful to have Bruce paying attention to him) and starting on the dishes without remembering Tony's coffee.  
  
"Hey, Steve, you okay?" Tony asked, getting his coffee himself. Steve jerked, having actually forgotten Tony was there (he hadn't, not really, Tony was like a hum under his skin, always there) and almost dropped the plate he was holding. "Steve?"  
  
"I'm fine. I was just - I was doing some reading this morning, and it was kind of - I'm still processing it."  
  
"If you need any help processing, let me know, okay? I don't want you hurting yourself trying to catch up with the times." Tony sounded genuine, and he nodded, leaning into the hand that TOny had placed on his back, soaking in the comfort for a moment before going back to the dishes.

 

A trend started after that; Steve would take the first cup of coffee down to Tony's lab and return upstairs, waiting for Tony to come out. Tony would then choose a movie (Tony was excited when he got to show him Sound of Music and Cinderella and Guys and Dolls and especially the African Queen) and they'd watch it, curled up on opposite ends of the couch, feet comfortably tangled between them. Steve was getting there, getting to the point that he could do something more than blush and brush his hand over Tony's; he wanted to do more but couldn't get the courage. Tony, for his part, never did more than trace his face with a few fingers, trail a hand down his arm, brush his hair out of his eyes, little things that made a big impact.   
  
Steve wasn't sure that what they were doing could be called flirting anymore (was it still flirting when you saw each other all the time and really only touched each other like that? He'd have to look it up or ask someone; maybe Natasha would know), but he knew that he liked it, liked upping the ante whenever he could, getting a smile out of Tony for the oddest things, feeling a tingle down his back at Tony accidentally touching his lips with the tip of his thumb. He was slowly assimilating all of the knowledge he'd gotten from the internet and from Pepper (that woman was a godsend, truly, he didn't really know how to thank her), and getting over his own hang-ups in the process.  
  
Meanwhile, Tony's food just got better and better, the rest of them finally noticing the change in quality and commenting to that end, though none of them but Bruce even knew it wasn't a caterer. Steve sometimes felt bad about that, but since he was still working out the reason why Tony was cooking for them in the first place, he couldn't really get mad about any of it. So he just did the dishes and made sure Tony had coffee, the fleeting touches grounding him in a way he hadn't thought possible.  
  
~*~  
  
"Do you think it's possible to fall in love over food?" he asked Natasha one morning when they happened to be in the kitchen at the same time.  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean," she said, taking a sip of juice and flicking to the next page of the newspaper on her tablet.  
  
"I mean... I don't really know what I mean. I just... Is it possible to fall in love with someone without knowing it?"  
  
"That? Yes. The food part is debatable. Have you fallen in love with Tony's caterer?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he felt himself blush (damn being a blond was horrible sometimes).  
  
"Something like that. I was just wondering. Thanks, Tasha." He busied himself with his scone (an offhand comment about his mother's blueberry scones had gotten him these, which were almost as good) and The Return of The King, which was sucking him in faster than the other two (though someone had said something about them all being one book and Hobbit being the prequel). She let it go, or at least gave the illusion, thankfully.  
  
He knew the second Tony entered the kitchen, forced himself not to look over, not to react outwardly. Tony brushed past him casually as he headed for the coffee, and Steve couldn't help his little smile at the contact. He couldn't ever help smiling around Tony anymore, whether the man was telling a (usually bawdy) joke or simply sitting around working quietly. He ignored Tasha's look, staying focused on his book.   
  
After lunch Tony convinced him to put the dishes in the dishwasher ("that's what it's there for, not sure why you and Bruce don't get that") and sit with him. Steve pulled his book out and kept reading, listening to the hum of Tony's breath as he worked through calculations and models. A few minutes later, Steve laid his hand on top of the table, close to Tony's free hand. He didn't suppress the shiver this time when Tony's fingers traced over his palm and fingers before lacing, bringing their hands into full contact. Steve simply leaned in closer, still reading his book. He didn't mention the thrill that went up his spine when Tony's humming took on an actual tune, or when Tony's thumb traced over the back of his hand.

 

~*~

 

The days blurred together a little after that, late nights watching movies that Steve can't really remember (beyond the scenes that Tony won't let him forget, makes him pay attention to), lunches and dinners made of fantasm and feelings (and maybe he's figured out why Tony cooks for them, but maybe not), and the tiny touches and glances that heat Steve through to his very bones. The only thing that stood out in the lineup was The Kiss (and no, he still wasn't 12, no matter how much his brain insisted otherwise). He didn't really remember when it happened, just that it did; a warm brush of lips that could have been anything but ended up being the two of them, holding hands in a dark hallway and kissing like children.  
  
Steve didn't know why Tony was being so gentle, except that maybe it was Steve's job to move things along, his choice on how far things went. So after The Kiss he made a point to kiss Tony whenever they were alone (he wasn't quite ready to give the rest of them concrete proof, not yet), to take it deeper than before. Most of the movies that he didn't remember passed with lazy kisses on the couch, neither of them paying attention to what had become background noise.  
  
He still hadn't fully owned up to himself, to what he was (he wasn't sure what he was, even after reading as much as he could, the words were daunting, scary), and he felt like more of a coward than he ever had in his life, but Tony never asked for anything. He didn't ask for declarations or explanations, and Steve often felt the gratitude threatening to choke him, because Tony was so much more than what Steve had thought at first meeting, and had never held his words against him (whether they were perpetuated by the staff or not, they'd been said).  
  
Bruce pulled him aside one day, when Tony had retreated to the lab. "Don't hurt him, Steve."  
  
"I... I'm not trying to," he replied, startled into honesty (though lying never really worked for him, so). He could have pretended he had no idea what Bruce was talking about, but he didn't. Bruce was Tony's best friend, at least that lived in the Mansion, so he had that right.  
  
"That's the problem. You don't have to try. Just be careful." Steve nodded, and wondered if anyone would ever be close enough to him to give Tony a talk like that (no, everyone he had like that was long dead and buried, all he had were these four people that were closer to each other than him), to stand up for him like that, like he might need it. He curled up in the living room with Lewis Carroll and a mug of tea, listening to a swing station on the radio in the corner.   
  
No one bothered him (no one ever did, except for Tony) and he got most of the way through 'Through the Looking Glass before Tony's hand on his shoulder brought him out of Wonderland and back to the real world. Tony didn't say anything; he didn't have to. His eyes were soft and understanding at Steve's retreat to his childhood, and Steve managed a smile as he put the book down and muted the music. He ate quietly, sparing Tony a small smile and letting Bruce have the dishes afterward, wanting to escape for just a little longer before he had to really be in the 21st century again.  
  
That night they watched The Wizard of Oz, curled together in silence, Tony's lips pressed to the top of his head for the majority of the movie. Steve felt a little like a child, being held like this, but he let it soothe him nonetheless. He managed to stay awake through the movie this time, kissing Tony for a long time outside his room before going to bed, exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately.  
  
~*~  
  
Tony wondered what had sent Steve back in time. He'd been getting better at adjusting, acclimating to all of the differences, but he had slid backward pretty spectacularly, if Alice in Wonderland and Duke Ellington were anything to go by. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Steve wasn't actually a good ten years younger than him (and if that didn't make him feel old, well), that he was in all reality almost a century old, and nearly that long out of place and time.  
  
He shuffled into the lab to finish up some calculations, like he did most nights after walking Steve to his room. Tony nodded to Bruce and went over to his 'whiteboard'.

He managed to keep his mouth shut for half an hour, a record for him, especially with Bruce. There was always something to say, after all. "What did you say to Steve? He's been stuck in the 30s all day. We ended up watching Wizard of Oz because he was so miserable."   
  
"I didn't mean to... I only... I was trying to do the friend thing, tell him not to hurt you."  
  
"Bruce, shit! You realize that I can hurt him a lot worse than he could ever hurt me? He's too nice to hurt anyone deliberately."  
  
"You could hurt each other without opening your mouths, and you know it. So I'm telling you the same thing: don't hurt him." Bruce looked utterly serious, and Tony couldn't help but laugh, though he couldn't really figure out what was funny.  
  
"Steve... He doesn't think he belongs here most days, Bruce. And you warned him off hurting me. He doesn't think he has anyone to do anything like that for him, you realize? His best friend fell off a bridge 70-odd years ago and his girl died 3 years ago in her sleep. My dad died when I was 17. He doesn't think he has anybody."  
  
"He's got us," Bruce said quietly.  
  
"Well yeah, but does he know that? Christ, Bruce, I thought you were intelligent. I'll try and fix it tomorrow, but that was an asshole way to go about that." He ignored Bruce's big eyes and turned back to his board, tossing the equation and specs toward the modeler. "JARVIS, let's get going with this. I want to be in bed by dawn."  
  
~*~  
  
Steve felt extremely heavy the next day, like just the weight of getting out of bed was too much, and missed lunch by holing up in the gym, trying to work through it. Bruce had been right. He could hurt Tony, and badly, just by looking at him a certain way. He didn't want to, but he could. He destroyed 4 bags in his sudden bout of anger (it was familiar, more familiar than the sadness of the day before, surely, only not at all) and moved onto the dummies that Tony had tested with the suit before deeming them virtually indestructible. He destroyed one before he could even think.  
  
"Why are you mad?" Tasha asked, and he jumped, not having heard her enter the room.  
  
"I don't know. I just... I guess I just remembered that I don't belong here. I'm a man out of time." He slowly stretched his shoulders, relishing the dull ache of the small tears that were already repairing themselves. Tasha nodded, not bothering to correct him, which he appreciated.  
  
"You're not alone, Steve," she finally said, eyes softening a little. "Sometimes it may feel like it, but there are always going to be four people who will always have your back. I know you think you know that, but I don't think you've learned what it means yet. Just think on that, will you?" She left as quietly as she'd entered, leaving him alone with bruised and bloody knuckles that would be healed within minutes. He looked at the other dummies for a moment before giving up and going to take a shower.  
  
Bruce found him later, bringing him a bowl of the pad thai that Tony had made for lunch, and an apology. Steve wasn't sure what the apology was for, but he accepted it nonetheless. He wasn't angry at Bruce, or at anyone, really. He was angry at life, maybe, for throwing him curveballs that he couldn't swing on, but not any one person.  
  
"I warned him, too, you know?" Bruce finally said, when Steve was getting to the point of fidgeting. That surprised him.  
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because you're my friend, too, Steve. I don't want to see either of you hurt if something goes wrong. I should have mentioned that yesterday, that I was going to talk to him, too. I'm sorry for that." Steve just shook his head, unable to articulate what he thought. "You should eat that. You'll waste away if you don't." Bruce gave him a smile and walked away, leaving Steve reeling. He'd thought that the only people (besides Tony, but that was a different subject altogether) that cared about him were long gone. To find out that that wasn't the case was a little daunting, and Tasha's words from earlier made a lot more sense. He opened The Hunger Games with a small smile and put on some AC/DC (he actually liked them, and not just because of Tony).

 

He almost missed dinner, probably would have if Clint hadn't poked his head inside the door, getting his attention by whistling sharply over the louder sound that was early Metallica, making him jerk up from where he was reading Catching Fire. He put the book down and gestured to mute the music (or pause it or whatever. JARVIS would put it back to where it was before anyway) before following Clint downstairs.  
  
"Sorry, I was a little..."  
  
"Not moping?" Clint suggested. "Thank fuck for that, honestly, Cap, the melancholy was getting into my clothes and I honestly hate the smell of sadness. It's part of the trifecta." Steve didn't bother asking what the reference was (Clint was often vulgar just because), only smiled a little and moved his head in an approximation of a nod. Dinner was some kind of almost-casserole, rice chicken and broccoli mixed with cheese. Steve thought it was great (close to something his mother had made once, before she'd gotten too sick to do more than direct from her bed) and made sure to say so, participating in the dinner conversation as much as he was able. He got into an argument with Clint about whether Katniss would realistically be able to do everything she'd done in the books, which dragged Natasha in (since of course, she had read the books and knew who they were talking about), and it became a wonderful three-way thing that Tony tried to diffuse with science.  
  
"Science? Tony, it's fiction, darlin' there's no science here," Steve said absently, patting his shoulder (and completely ignoring that Natasha and Clint had just been arguing about force versus strength versus momentum, and he'd been busy devising a training course in his head, all angles and symmetry). It wasn't until later, once the other two had ceremoniously dumped him to the side in favor of mutating the argument into who had better accuracy, that he realized what he'd done. Strangely, he only felt a certain lightness in his chest, at finally (whether Natasha or Clint had actually realized it) done something public, something that couldn't be taken back at a moment's notice if he got scared.   
  
~*~  
  
Clint had apparently decided that Bruce knew who the caterer was, and was constantly poking at his boyfriend (the fact that Steve could even think that was amazing, a big step, something he knew he'd be telling Tony about later) to pry the answer out of him. Bruce had actually been tortured before, though, so Clint's half-hearted pokes and prods got him absolutely nothing. Whenever it got too bad, Bruce would roll his eyes and glance over at Steve, who'd taken to reading in the den (Tasha had beaten him within an inch of his life the last time he'd called it a living room) in the time between lunch and dinner. Steve would just grin back at him, shaking his head.   
  
Tasha was more sneaky in her surveillance, sitting and watching the door to the kitchen (which was usually closed, so he wasn't sure why she did it) around mealtimes. Steve found himself watching her curiously, waiting for some kind of sign of what she was doing. He never actually found out, since she caught onto him watching her and immediately stopped.   
  
"Hey Cap! You're dating Tony, right? He told you who it is, right?" Clint asked one day, blindsiding him into knocking a hole into the wall of the gym. He pulled his hand out gingerly, pulling bits of concrete out before making sure nothing was broken.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You and Tony. Beast with two backs?" Steve knew Clint was teasing, but it was still hard to keep his temper, which must have come across on his face, because Clint put his hands up, backing away. "Or not. But you're dating him, right?" Steve took a moment to think about it, not having envisioned this conversation at all.  
  
"Um, yes. We're dating, but no, Tony's never told me who the caterer is." He forced himself to think about the time when Tony couldn't cook, when there actually was a caterer, and that seemed to work.  
  
"Harsh. Have you asked? I'm pretty sure he'd tell you." Clint looked eager, and Steve just laughed.  
  
"No, I never asked him. And I won't ask him. Figure it out on your own, Hawkeye. I'm not helping with this. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go have Bruce or Tony check over my hand because I think I broke something."

He wondered how long it would take Clint to realize that he knew who the caterer was, even as he let Bruce wrap his hand (he'd only broken one knuckle, a new record, and it healed right after being set). He looked around, this being the first time he'd actually gone into the lab (JARVIS had opened the door without prompting for some reason). It looked like a mad scientist's dream, all strange machines and chemistry sets. At least, one half did.  
  
The other half, obviously Tony's, was filled with robots and machine parts and an old roadster (that he vaguely recognized as one he'd ridden in once). In one corner of the room, however, there was a large open kitchen, stainless steel and granite counter tops. So this was where the magic happened. Once Bruce was done with him, he wandered over, careful not to touch anything. Tony was out at a meeting, but he'd be back soon enough, and Steve just wanted to see. Everything looked like something out of a cooking show (he'd spent way too many hours watching them with Thor whenever he was on-planet) and it all gleamed, making him think that this was Tony's real work. The rest was just fiddling.  
  
"Like what you see?" He jumped a little; Bruce was quiet, but there was music playing and he hadn't even heard the door to the lab opening. He turned and smiled at Tony, trying not to blush.  
  
"I was just thinking... This is what you really like to do. The rest is just..."  
  
"What I have to. Yeah. I like cooking." Tony stepped forward into his space and Steve automatically wrapped an arm around him, leaning into the contact a little. "I really like cooking for other people. It's... It's a way to give back. I mean, I can be an insensitive asshole a lot of the time, but... when people stick around... It's a way to say thanks." The tone of his voice was a little tired, a little jaded, and a little bit affectionate, and Steve wondered how all of that could be in the same sentence.   
  
"Well, I know why I stick around. And it's not because of the food." Tony's bright grin startled one out of him in return, and Tony leaned up to kiss him before stepping back and taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.  
  
"Wanna help make lunch?" Steve grinned wider, rolling up his own sleeves.   
  
"Sure." He had no idea what they were making, but that didn't seem to really matter to Tony, who just shoved things at him and told him to chop. He probably did it all wrong, nothing looked like it usually did when Tony did it, but Tony didn't seem to care, tossing it into the skillet once Steve was done with it.  
  
Tony showed him how the food got upstairs (a neat little trick with a dumbwaiter and a cabinet and a little robot that carried the food to the table) and then went to work on the roadster, inviting him to help. Steve had less than an idea of what to do with the car, even though it ostensibly came from his time. There were so many upgrades to it that only the shape matched. But it was fun anyway.  
  
By the time they got upstairs, they were both covered in grease and Steve at least, was almost giggling he was laughing so hard. The best part of it was that no one even batted an eye. Well, Clint winked.  
  
~*~  
  
"Okay, Stark. We're dying here!" Clint finally exploded about a week later, ignoring Tasha's muttered 'not us, you'. "Tell us who's cooking this food!"  
  
"Are you sure you want to know?" Tony asked, smirking a little as he picked over his dinner with the air of someone who was secure in the knowledge that he held all the cards.  
  
"Yes! The only people sitting at this table who don't know are me and Tasha!"  
  
"You mean, only you, don't you Clint? I've known who it was for weeks," Tasha said, a smile darting across her face. "I'm friends with JARVIS." Tony just laughed, and Clint gave her a wounded look.  
  
"I thought we were BFFs?" he whined.  
  
"If Tony wanted you to know, he'd tell you," she said, ignoring the hand he put on her arm.  
  
"Please?" he finally said, wondering if that would work. And miracle of miracles, it did.  
  
"Me." And that was the last thing he heard before falling off his chair in a dead faint.

 

~*~

 

For about a week afterward, Steve found it hilarious whenever Clint walked into a room and Tasha dramatically reenacted his fainting spell on the kitchen floor. Clint, of course, found it not-as-hilarious, but he seemed to be the only one. Even Bruce laughed softly most of the time, even while trying to calm Clint down.  
  
Tony just made Clint's favorite foods for a week, which shut him up nicely. And Steve... He just let Clint rant at him. It was apparently cathartic to the archer, and it wasn't like he could actually hurt him... Well, besides the whole shooting him in the ass with an arrow thing. But that was an accident. Mostly.  
  
And slowly, the routine evolved again. Tasha insisted on helping at least once a week, which necessitated a rehaul of the upstairs kitchen because Tony wouldn't let her or anyone else into the lab but Bruce and sometimes Steve (he'd learned that if the door opened it was a good day, and if they didn't, he'd better have a lot of coffee). Which of course, meant ordering in for a week, which, of course, meant that no one was exactly happy.  
  
Especially not Tony. He had his routines, and whenever his routines were broken, at least by anyone not him, he had issues (Clint had made sure Steve understood the way this phrase was used before letting him use it). And Steve didn't like it when Tony was unhappy (even though Tony was only ever  _really_  happy when they were alone). So Steve tried to keep everything else the same, which surprisingly, worked a treat. Tony didn't go insane, and the Mansion stayed in one piece. Mostly. (That explosion in the lab didn't count; Bruce had dropped a beaker after Tony threw a paper airplane at him. The Hulk was surprisingly amused.)  
  
"So now that we know the who," Clint finally said, about three months after The Incident (which was a terrible name for a fainting fit, but Steve liked it because it was funny), "how about the why?"  
  
"Clint... Family's a finicky thing, wouldn't you say? You can't choose your blood family, they can't choose you. It's the family you make that's the most important. Right?"  
  
"... Right."  
  
"There's your answer then." And Steve just smiled when Clint still looked a little confused and Tony held his hand under the table, thumb running over his palm.


End file.
